


An illusion of a letter

by inkfeathers



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Erejean Week 2019, Forbidden Love, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Prompt: Soulmates/Forbidden, Sad victorian men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 02:52:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18357110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkfeathers/pseuds/inkfeathers
Summary: Jean Kirstein remembers the day his love decided he'd had enough.





	An illusion of a letter

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Erejean week 2019. Prompt: Soulmates/Forbidden.

 

There have been instances in my time as a writer where I question whether I mean anything I write, or if I am, by this point, seeking out false words to convey even faker emotions in order to achieve some semblance of normalcy, or perhaps to simulate it. Writing hasn’t been as freeing to me as it once had been, I am often needing to drag myself to produce a single string of sentences, when it once came as naturally as breathing. The last months, in particular, have been particularly empty of any worthwhile inspiration. 

 

This time, however, I had a reason. 

 

I’ve been avoiding writing about the one thing that occupies my mind from dawn to dusk, the only thing I can put enough focus to write about. I need to dislodge these array of thoughts somewhere before I combust, for I’m certainly not helping anyone if I remain in denial. 

 

I, most certainly, am not making any sense. 

 

So elaborate I must, for even if in the end I’m as lost as I started, at least there will be some order to my thoughts, even if it brings no peace to my soul. 

 

I know I won’t like any of the answers I may find. 

 

Nevertheless, I won’t run away from them any longer. 

 

I had woken up late for work that day, with little to no desire to do something about it. My enthusiasm for working as an editor for The Mirror had been dwindling for some time, as you had well known. The journal had become everything it once stood against, pandering to the wishes of the higher class while ignoring the people’s most pressing need; for months quitting had began to appear more and more tempting, but the fear of finding myself without a job held me back. Shamefully I must admit it wasn’t my family’s needs which arose to mind in such times, as it was less the fear that I could provide for us which deterred me and more the idea of having too much time with my own miserable thoughts. Work at least occupied me, gave me a purpose, even if it was a meaningless one. In days such as that one, however, it wasn’t enough.  

 

I didn’t always resort to seeking you out when I got like this. Not because I didn’t think of you, for I always did, but having you near me when I was such a bottomless pit of desolation never bode well for either of us. And that’s what I had been like, for months. So I refrained. Although I can’t pretend my reasons were all that noble. In truth, part of me was terrified of meeting you again, since our last encounters had concluded with more sourness than anything else. 

 

I didn’t think of it right then, but maybe the realization that I was afraid of meeting you may have made me more determined to seek you out that day. I don’t claim to understand the acrobatics of my mind all the time. 

 

So I took a cab that would drive me quickly to where I knew I could find you at that time of day, and I did my best to ignore the uncertainty nibbling at my chest. 

 

When my eyes finally found you as I scanned the smelly, cramped joint, I forgot all about any fear, forgot all about much of anything, really. You looked as heart-stopping as I remembered you, temptingly shirtless and looking at your opponent like a starving panther. You were sweating all over, and that sight alone would have made anyone weak in the knees. Then I saw you pounce at the much larger fellow and beat him for all he was worth, masterfully rendering him immobile with a punch to the jaw and a slam to the calves, all the while leaving yourself unscathed. You looked almost bored as you finished, and it was easy to tell you were disappointed at how easy it had been. I followed your movements as you went to claim your money and ignored the crowd of bettors that clamored your name. Remaining in the shadows until everyone had left, I followed you upstairs to the changing room when I was sure nobody was looking. 

 

Of course you already knew I was there. It was obvious from your lack of surprise as I entered the room. I find it impossible not to notice when you are nearby, it made sense that the reverse also applied. You only chanced a quick glance at me as if to confirm what you already knew, and continued to put on your shoes as if nothing was the matter. 

 

And then you talked, and I could tell from the first word alone I was about to be mocked at.  

 

“Jean.” You said in a dispassionate tone, your translucent silver eyes only betraying the faintest curiosity. “What brings a respectable citizen like you to such a lowly place?” 

 

Your voice was dripping with sarcasm. I was used to hearing such gibes from you, but just like you, I didn’t like obliquity and appreciated straightforwardness, so I spoke with the truth. 

 

“I wanted to see you.” I said with conviction. 

 

You stared at me for a moment, then let out an unattractive snort. 

 

“You saw me. You can go now.”

 

“I mean,” I started to clarify with an (unjust) annoyed sigh. “I wanted to talk to you. To...see how you were--” 

 

“Spare me the chit chat.” You stood up and walked towards me, and if I had noticed your lack of a shirt before (and I had) it was very apparent now. I wasn’t so self-contained as to be able to help myself from staring at your rock-hard chest and finely taut muscles. In retrospect, I think you were counting on that.  “Your wife threw you out?” 

  
  


My jaw clenched. I knew your hostility was warranted but that didn’t mean I was going to remain there to take it. As much as you advocated for my liking for self flagellation, it didn’t go as far as complete submissiveness to your temperament. 

 

“If you don't want me here, I'll just--” 

 

“Don’t.”  

 

I paused on my way to the door, digging my nails in my palm, and you sighed, and when I turned around I was relieved to see your hard mask crumble even a bit. 

 

“Forgive me. I have been...wound up, lately.” You stretched yourself as if to demonstrate, and I could only chalk it up to your exhibitionist tendencies. The slow, sensual movements of your muscles left me more than a little light-headed. 

 

“That’s alright. Is it a bad time?” 

 

“No, actually.” You smiled. A devastating, pearly-white smile. “It’s always a good time for old friends. I can’t say I haven’t missed you. Will you sit down?” 

 

“Here?” I looked around, the place stank of men sweat and dry blood. I grimaced, and you quirked a brow.  

 

“Do you have a better place?” 

 

I sat down. It was a long wooden chair with no backrest, and you threw one leg over it to fully face me. I was already riding the thrilling wave of having your attention turned towards me, so when those glassy grey eyes pierced through me, the reminder of how that felt like almost shook me off the ground. 

 

I was addicted to those eyes. I will probably always be. 

 

“So? What do you have to tell me today? Job still giving you a hard time?” 

 

“I feel like a goose trying to be a peacock all the time there.” 

 

You let out a laugh at that.  _ I made you laugh,  _ I had thought, delighted. 

 

“That’s an...incredibly appropriate comparison.” You smiled. 

 

I smiled back, and I remember feeling more relaxed after that. This was what I came looking for. That terrible familiarity between you and me that even the years and our own mistakes hadn’t been able to erase. I leaned back against the chair and let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding. 

 

“What about you? You look much better than the last time I saw you.”

 

“Five months ago? Yes, I’ve had some luck now and then.” 

 

There it was. And part of me was glad you were saying it. Though I am coward, I hadn't gone there expecting you with open arms. 

 

I straightened back and looked guiltily at the floor. “After the way we left off, I didn’t--” 

 

“Oh, don’t give me that shite.” You snarled, then seemed to rein yourself in. It must have taken a lot of strength to do so, I know you well enough to know that it must have. “Every time I think it’s the last time. Every time I think you are not going to come back. Sometimes I even wish you wouldn’t.” 

 

I winced. Under different circumstances, that kind of statement would have sent me to my knees, had we not had said worse things to each other before. It took a moment to recover from the blow, but eventually I found my voice again. 

 

“I- I can stop coming back if you ask me to.”

 

“I’m not going to ask that,” you said with a sigh, and the resignation in your voice was just as painful. 

 

We looked at each other for a moment,  with so many things unsaid neither of us knew where to start. My absence had caused you pain, but was my presence now and even bigger wound? I couldn’t even tell at that point. I wasn't sure I wanted to know. But you weren’t throwing me out on the streets, at least. And I clung to that like a dying man to a lifeboat. 

 

When you turned your eyes away, I was left adrift once again. 

 

“Jaeger?” 

 

We both jumped at the sudden interruption, even if we weren't doing anything incriminating. But the tension between us was palpable enough for anyone to become suspicious, that had been one of the problems, back then. We couldn't look at each other without betraying how deep our connection ran, how intense our feelings were. That had been as true back when we were a pair of school boys as it was now, and twice as dangerous. 

 

Predictably, the man that walked in narrowed his eyes warily at the sight of us, and immediately you stood up from your seat with a dire look on your eyes. 

 

“Who is this man?” The leery fellow asked, his rodent-like features scrunching up unattractively. 

 

“None of your concern.” 

 

“This isn’t your house, Jaeger. There are rules on how long you can stay here.”

 

I had to give it to the man for not flinching at the way you looked at him. If looks could kill, the amount of people who would have met their demise at the eyes of Eren Jaeger could fill a whole newsprint. 

 

“Don’t worry, Bull Tongue, we were just leaving. Tell your boss not to expect me here next week.” 

 

“What? You can’t--” 

 

But we were already out the door, me staying a few paces behind as you buttoned back your shirt  and guided us through the gambling house. I noticed we weren’t really going away, instead we crossed a narrow hallway which lead us into another wing of the venue, barely lit and with rooms scattered around with no doors, except for a small one, which you forced open. 

 

I followed you inside, because what else was I going to do? Only when you closed the door behind us did I ask what you had brought us there for. 

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” 

 

I heard more than I saw the smirk in your face. It wasn’t a good smirk. It wasn’t playful and carefree as it had been in our younger days. It was dark, and it was dangerous. It sent my heart racing at a worrying rhythm as you came closer, and I was trapped by your presence before you’d even cornered me to the wall. When you kissed me, I had already melted in your arms. But I fought my desires and the longing that had been consuming me for not months but  _ years _ in order to gather some last traces of sensibleness. 

 

I pushed you away. But believe me, love, it felt as though I was tearing my own flesh apart. “Eren...Are you sure about this? You weren’t very happy about me coming here earlier. I don’t want to impose when I’m not welcome, we can do something else.” 

 

I wasn’t such a fool as to believe this was the ideal deal for you. It had never been ideal for either of us, but something was different about that day. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was then, but you weren’t acting like your normal self. The abrasiveness wasn’t new, nor was it your fancy for dominating. If I had pried harder, if I had stopped my lustful, cowardly self in that moment and demanded to talk to you,  _ really _ talk to you, maybe I could have prevented whatever your plans were later. Had you already made up your mind then? Or had it only been an idea nagging at your head until I spilled your last straw? 

 

“Of course I wasn’t  _ happy _ to see you. Bloody hell, Jean. I want to murder you sometimes. Showing up at one of my fights after months of silence and then behaving like we are some business partners. Really makes me hate you. It’s almost as if you are purposely provoking me. Are you enough of a goddamn masochist for that? Do you just want to make me angry?”

 

“Eren, I--” 

 

“It doesn’t matter,” you took a deep breath, and I knew you were holding so much back. I saw a flash of pain cross your features, and it was almost enough to undo me, but I didn’t deserve to beg for forgiveness. “In the end you came back, didn’t you? And I guess I have my own penchant for masochism.” 

 

“I  _ never _ want to hurt you,” I avowed desperately, even if everything I had done screamed otherwise. I would have happily sworn myself to you years ago if our circumstances had allowed it, even when it wasn’t legally possible. I don't fault you for having pushed me away when we first met again years after school, and I don't fault you for having stopped sending me letters. I did. For a long while. But I don't anymore. Many times I wondered what you kept doing in London, when you clearly belonged elsewhere. But then I wondered where you could belong to, and my mind came out empty. 

 

Is that why you left? Did you go looking for it?

 

If so, as selfish as it sounds, I wish you would have taken me with you. 

 

I can admit to that on these pages. 

 

“I know.” You admitted all of a sudden, your voice going uncommonly soft, and the sadness with which you spoke your next words took me completely off-guard. “I’ve started to think I’m the one who keeps hurting you.” 

 

This. This is the moment I keep turning around over and over in my head. I didn’t doubt your sincerity, but what you were telling me made no sense. How could you be at fault when it was me who kept looking for you at infrequent intervals? Not once had you been the one to look for me. Not since we were kids. For someone who had been famous for his lack of restraint, you had held yourself back more than I had been capable of. 

 

When you bent down to kiss me again, I was too stunned by your remark to do anything other than kiss you back, deeper and fiercer than before. I buried my hand in your hair and gripped viciously at it, as though I could show you by force how ridiculous what you had just said was. You were my light. My guiding hand. My inspiration. It simply wouldn’t do to let you believe you were anything but. 

 

I held you by the shoulders and flipped our positions. I got to your neck first, which was as musky sweet as I remembered. I let my mouth have its way with it as I opened your shirt, and then I didn’t waste any time to lower myself to the ground and tear your trouser front open. From the tent you had been sporting I had suspected you weren’t wearing anything underneath, and I smirked when I confirmed my hunch. I kissed the base with all the yearning I had held for all those months, and all the reverence I was determined to prove to you. You were already rock-hard, and I assume that made it all the easier to relinquish your control. I took you in my mouth and used all my experience with this one beloved part of you to carefully and earnestly bring you to pieces. To have you thrashing against the wall and gasping for air. I wished with everything in myself that I could see your face as you spilled your essence inside my throat, but I was content to just welcome the taste inside my mouth. 

 

When there was nothing else for you to give, I pulled away safe it became uncomfortable. I was planning on finishing myself on my own, for I was already halfway there with the way I was straining against my pants. But you kneeled down with me just as I was taking myself out, and you made me lean back against your arm like a child in need for comfort before you took me in hand. You kissed me so deeply, like only you knew how. And even as we remained there with only the necessary undress, I felt blessedly close to you as you guided me to completion. 

 

You took care not to make a mess, and kissed my cheek sweetly as I came down from the high. It struck me as odd how you kept gently nuzzling my face, but I attributed it to your instances of sentimentalism after an orgasm, now I’m wondering if you were saying goodbye even then. 

 

We kissed sloppily, leisurely, like we were a pair of newlyweds with all the time in the world instead of an unfaithful man and an outlaw in some dingy storage room. In those instances I thought I could spend eternity in your arms, and we only stopped when the movements outside grew too loud to ignore. 

 

“You need to go,” you said firmly, but not cruelly. 

 

I stared up at where your eyes would be, hoping to convey the sincerity of my words even when you couldn’t see my face. “I didn’t mean to leave for so long, Eren. I was being honest when I attempted to say I thought you were finished with me. I thought I disgusted you.” 

 

I heard you sigh, and it crossed my mind how you were doing that more and more lately. 

 

“I’ve been trying to fool myself for too long. I never thought I’d be one to do so, but here we are.” 

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

“I mean it would be better for you to move towards the future than hold on to your past.” 

 

That's when I should have known. You were never one to throw statements like that for the sake of it. You never said something without meaning it, and meaning it with your whole heart. I purposefully blinded myself to what you were trying to tell me there, and afterwards I’ve been trying to convince myself you did it all for your sake instead of mine. 

 

But that wasn’t it, was it? Or it wasn’t the whole of it. 

 

I attempted to have you elaborate on your words, but you had already shut in by then. It’s how it went: I would snatch a glimpse of your heart for a few minutes before you’d slam the door close in my face. If once upon a time I had been invited to explore it’s deepest corners, I had been downgraded to a mere side-observer. I left the small, dingy room with a strain on my chest and a grim feeling in the pit of my stomach as I walked down the streets of London, since I couldn’t even bring myself to summon a cab. When I arrived home, my wife looked at me with concern, and while at this point it was downright redundant to feel guilt, I felt even more like the most worthless waste on the earth when I saw the worry in her eyes. 

 

I learned about your disappearance three weeks later, when an article about the murder of an illegal prizefighter caught my eye at work and I ran towards the gambling house in a crazed haste. They told me the papers hadn’t been referring to you, but that you hadn’t made an appearance since the day I came to the place, and no one had since had a clue of where you were.

 

It’s been seven months now. 

 

During the first five months, I was stubborn in my believe that this was all just your  punishment for my mistakes. For leaving for University, for giving up on the letters, for marrying a woman. Perhaps because in that way, I could still hold onto the hope of it ending, of you waiting for me one day on some alleyway with some poignant words about abandonment, and I’d be too overjoyed to see you again to hold it against you. 

 

But I need to stop entertaining that notion. I see now there were more intricacies to your decision that I first gave you credit for, how many I only hope to know, since you didn’t leave me with any word or letter. 

 

Either that or you are...dead. 

 

But no. How could you be dead when my heart keeps beating steadily? If something were to have happened to you, surely I would sense it. Surely I would know. 

 

I’m mad, and I’m hurt. Even if I have no right to be. I’ve spent three days forgoing my work to put these words together, and I don’t know how good it did. The amount of times I’ve wanted to spill ink all over these pages it’s almost the same as their paragraphs, and I can’t seem to shake the feeling of anger and anxiousness still. If you’d figured this would be the best for both of us, why do I feel so lost? 

 

If I knew, however, that you were happy wherever you were, I’d swallow it all up and wished you the best life. Even if that life wasn’t at my side. 

 

If you came back, I’d make so many changes… 

 

I wish with all my heart I can give you this letter some day. 

 

In spite of everything, and albeit all these years of mutual hurt, believe me when I say I still remain

  
very sincerely yours, 

Jean Kirstein

**Author's Note:**

> Well that was an experience. This was meant to be a short drabble, but the gay victorian demon living inside of me transformed it into something else...hopefully with some sense. Thank you all for reading my weird shit, would love to hear your thoughts on the comments <3


End file.
